


Sparks Flying in Her Eyes

by coffeehousehaunt



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, prompt: drugged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4484423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clarke is drugged and in chains (again), and I'm not sure who's lying just yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks Flying in Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "The 100 - Clarke/Lexa, "Drugged."' Wrote for a prompt over at femslash100, which I *thought* was in Drabbletag 6, but then I realized it was for a kink cycle, and I hadn't claimed it before claims closed. Whoops. Anyways, have some Clexa.

The weight against her wrists—tastes cloudy, cold and not at the same time. Presses right on her tongue. Drags her up, spreading. 

There’s a new pressure, a stretch in her neck. “Clarke.” 

The face in her vision swims, seams with impulses—one blood-flare-red-flicker- _upward_. Oiled steel and the smell—so overwhelming—the smell of the dirt itself, the ground penetrating deep into her lungs, her skin, her muscles, thick in her throat. Her legs tremble, but she doesn’t—doesn’t—

Fire. Fire in the moonshine and in Bellamy’s and Raven’s eyes and those scorched-steel cups and it was only when they were two cups in and Raven was slurring, “ _Damn, I’m_ faded,” and Bellamy couldn’t hold onto his cup anymore and she knew, but her tongue was too heavy and there was the ground filling everything. 

The weight on her wrists has turned into a tingle, little tight warm lines crawling up into her neck and they’re getting hotter by the second, but the thing that has her rushing towards the surface is that other smell—

“Clarke.” That voice doesn’t have a name yet, just a glittering black and a weakness in her knees and a sinking-cold in her stomach. Her muscles jerk, and that tension in her neck pulls taut. “Clarke, listen to me. In two minutes the elders from Polis will be here to decide the fate of your people. Most of them want you all dead. I don’t. But I need you to follow my lead, Clarke.”


End file.
